


Grace

by moonymindpalace



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bars Clubs and Bands, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Poverty, Running Away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 04:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonymindpalace/pseuds/moonymindpalace
Summary: Yugyeom was scared of the dark. He run away in the middle of the night, got a ride on the highway and let the city swallow him whole, hoping for some saving grace to push him through.





	Grace

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, thank you [Isis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freedawn)for being my beta and support. This work is one of my favourites up until now and it means a lot to have it ready for publishing.
> 
> Written from 14.11.2018 to 21.11.2018

  
_"Grace is what matters in anything — especially life, especially growth, tragedy, pain, love, death._   
_That’s a quality that I admire very greatly. It keeps you from reaching out for the gun too quickly. It keeps you from destroying things too foolishly._   
_It sort of keeps you alive." — Jeff Buckley._

When Yugyeom reached the highway, the sun was nearly rising but he had no idea of what time it was because his wristwatch was inside his backpack along with everything else and exhaustion was catching up on him after running all night away from his parent's house and straight into the darkness.

Yugyeom was afraid of the dark, of monsters living in the forest trees and of dying. But he stuck his thumb out at the side of the highway and waited because he was even more afraid of never living.

*

For some reason Youngjae’s old Toyota’s radio could pick up foreign stations, lulling him as he drove in the deserted highway. It was a Tuesday.

A man speaking English said something and that song Eric Clapton wrote for his dead son started, making Youngjae slow down. He had half a mind to change the station, but he guessed then was a time as good as any to start coping with his grief.

*

The only car to slow down was a battered Toyota. The driver seemed to hesitate before stopping and rolling down his window.

A mellow song was playing inside, and the guy had dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t question Yugyeom when he said he was heading to the city. The drive was silent, two more songs passing before Yugyeom got the courage to ask the driver’s name. Three more before Youngjae asked him why he was going for the city like that.

I’m just going away.

He couldn’t answer even to himself why then, why not months before or the next year.

*

Yugyeom was nothing like Youngmin, too shy, too tall, but Youngjae picked him up regardless, or maybe because of it. His brother was now probably wandering the roads of Heaven, looking for his gates, just like this boy was looking for his destination.

*

Yugyeom wasn’t friends with the boy who died, but only because he had no friends at all. They had gone to school together and Yugyeom, as well as the whole town, knew the boy was queer. That didn’t matter to him when the boy went missing then was found beaten up and tied to a fence. Didn’t matter when he passed in front of the funeral home and only the boy’s mother and two other people were in there, everyone else too afraid to attend and have the town’s gossip upon them.

He went in and stayed until the coffin was covered in dirt. Walked back slowly, portraits of the boy in school uniform behind him in line passing by his mind's eye. When he got home the people had gossiped and his parents lectured him, told him he was stupid, a shame to have as a child, asked whether he was a queer too.

His brother just stood there.

*

Their home was a cramped room behind a garage Mark used as his TV and Radio shop, and their privacy was made of curtains and loose wood making as walls. Yugyeom didn’t seem fazed.

My roommate is overseas visiting his family, he said and Yugyeom nodded quietly, a little slumped on the sofa. You can sleep in here or use his bed, Mark-hyung wouldn’t mind.

Do you have to wake up early?

No.

He knew Yugyeom would accept a simple negative, but something made Youngjae feel like he owed an explanation.

I’m on leave from work 'cos I had to travel home. 'Cos my younger brother died.

He didn’t see Yugyeom’s reaction because he ducked behind the kitchen counter to get the mugs.

He liked hiking with his friends, you know? They went down the hills, near the river, and he fell in the water. It was an accident.

What was his name?

Youngmin.

I’m sorry for your loss, Youngjae-ssi. I’m sure Youngmin is looking after you now.

Youngjae poured the tea, eyes unseeing because he was watching Youngmin walk down a road in the morning fog.

I’m pretty sure he is, he said. Took a sip and lowered his eyes again. He sent you, after all, I was afraid of staying alone in here.

*

He tried his hardest to find a job before Youngjae’s roommate was back, walking as far as possible without having to commute back. Most places required something he didn’t have, experience or knowledge until he stumbled through a narrow corridor to the counter of a Chinese restaurant.

The buff guy behind it spoke with a bit of an accent and looked at him sceptically, but still hired him to clean the shop in the morning and the kitchen in the afternoon. Youngjae was sceptical as well when he told him.

That’s an interesting neighbourhood for you to be in.

How come?

I’m sure you’ve noticed the neon signs and the massage girls.

I did, hyung.

*

As desperate as Youngjae had been in the past, he’d kept mostly to the “cleaner” bits of the city, until he found his job at the grocery store behind the train station.

The place Yugyeom worked was in a street he’d never been before, not even with Mark, and he ordered noodles because the prices were so low they made him question where the meat came from.

Mark came back looking like he hadn’t slept for days, hands colder than usual and barely speaking. Yugyeom looked a little weary around him.

They tried to make me stay, he said a few nights after arriving.

Again?

It’s not like they’ll ever understand why I chose to live on the other side of the world, but they could at least stop questioning me. I don’t like answering.

*

Jackson didn’t own the restaurant, the owner was the old woman who cooked and didn’t speak a word of Korean, but Yugyeom treated him with respect regardless. Even when his shift was nearing the end and Jackson made him wait on the costumers while he sat on the corner with a skinny boy with colourful hair.

*

A kid spilled yoghurt all over the conveyor belt and he went home smelling like sour dairy. Mark was on the shop counter, a CD player gutted in front of him while a newly fixed TV hummed in the corner, volume too low for the newsreel to be audible.

I saw Yugyeom on the news today, Mark said.

How come?

His family reported him as missing, you should tell him when he gets here.

You don’t wanna get in trouble?

I wanna be sure the boy can protect himself. If he doesn’t wanna go back to his family then he doesn’t.

*

Living in the shelter wasn’t so bad for Bambam. Sure, he couldn’t come back late but it wasn’t like he had the money to party or enough food in to handle drinking. He had a job and a hot dinner for free every night on Jackson, and he wasn’t as lonely as he used to be.

*

Should I hide?

Youngjae didn’t answer so Yugyeom turned to Mark.

Should I?

How long has it been since you came here?

Three months.

They probably thought you were just throwing a tantrum and running away and would go back when things got hard. Now they think something happened to you since you’re still away.

Youngjae, eyes downcast, nodded.

I think you should call them, he said.

*

He got off work a little later than the usual, already on a hurry to get to the restaurant before it was late. He didn’t want to be scolded by the shelter staff.

The boy who did the cleaning was leaning against the wall when he arrived, and Bambam had never gotten a chance to speak to him, so he stopped on his tracks. Upon close inspection, the boy was fiddling with a piece of paper.

Night night, he said, and the boy looked at him weird like he’d been offended.

Hi.

In the past, Bambam would’ve gotten intimidated and fled inside, but not anymore.

You’re Yugyeom, right?

Yes.

I’m Bambam. Sorry 'bout Jack-hyung, by the way, I know you ain’t supposed to work the counter.

The boy just shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He seemed nervous.

You like tea? Bambam asked out of impulse.

Yugyeom looked at him like he was crazy, but he was used to people calling him Crazy Bam.

My boss gave me a box, but I don’t drink caffeine, it’s a nice brand. Here.

He reached out a hand with the yellow box. Waiting for the cold shoulder, the heartless thanks.

Where do you work at?, Yugyeom asked instead, taking the box.

The hairdresser beside the noodle shop, I’m on an apprenticeship but I also paint nails and do makeup.

Yugyeom’s eyes travelled up and down like he was noticing his existence for the first time. Bambam stood there, waiting for the usual sneer and judgmental look.

Aren’t you afraid?, he asked, voice flat.

And Bambam was afraid, of course, because he was a foreigner and he wore makeup and girl’s shirts and Yugyeom had his eyes glued to his hands and his bright red nail polish. But there was no other way he’d be, even if people wanted to hurt him for it.

All the time, he confessed. But I ain’t gonna lose myself to things I can’t control.

*

Through the glass of the phone booth, Yugyeom could see Mark standing against a wall covered in graffiti, fighting the wind to light a cigarette.

Gyeom-ah, please, his brother was whining on the other side of the line. I won’t tell mum and dad, please just tell me where you are.

As if he’d ever trust Jinyoung's blabbermouth with something like that.

I’m living alright, I’m eating, and I have a job, that’s all you need to know. I ain’t going back any time soon.

Are you living on your own? Who are you living with?

Two hyungs.

Jinyoung made a derisive noise. One Yugyeom was tired of hearing, too much like his mother’s.

Can I at least know their names?

Mark had finally lit the cigarette, the smoke flying away from him at speed of light. Yugyeom unglued himself from the booth wall and put a finger to the hook, ready to end the call.

No.

*

Jackson’s roommate went away to work on the factory district. Bambam was happy to finally have a place of his own, wait for Jackson at the restaurant and going out with him, learning his way to all the hidden bars and little rock gigs where his lipstick and nail polish weren’t frowned upon, where they kissed just for the sake of it, high on neon and bass.

*

If we’re open 'til midnight why do I only work in the morning and afternoon?

Jackson, counting the till money from the previous night, looked at him like he was crazy.

'Cos you showed up in here in the afternoon, so I figured that the time you had. And I don’t think is a good idea having a kid like you holding the night shift in a place like this.

*

Saturdays were the best because Bambam didn’t work on Sundays, so he could sleep as late as he wanted and have noodles as breakfast when he left the club. Jackson wasn’t waiting for him, still busy in the kitchen, but for some reason, Yugyeom was there.

You work nights now?

Just on weekends.

Needing the extra money?

Yeah.

He was used to Yugyeom being a little curt, but at midnight it stung like it didn’t on late afternoons.

*

His hyungs weren’t the type to go out. Youngjae claimed he couldn’t afford it and Mark had some sort of social phobia, and Yugyeom had never known how to make friends.

*

Bambam’s favourite act was a guy with a guitar who sung mellow songs with so much anger they felt bitter in his tongue. Jackson called him the Jaw Guy and couldn’t understand what Bambam saw that was so interesting.

He makes me feel depressed, he said once when they were arriving home smelling like smoke, beer, and cheap perfume.

Bambam bent down to unzip his high heeled boots. He supposed he liked because he was always a little depressed and the songs took the edge off.

*

Standing in the alley on the back of the restaurant Yugyeom realised he had started smoking out of pure boredom. Seven months in the city had made him lose his sense of smell, the smoke and grime numbing him until the cheap cigarettes the massage girls smoked stopped being offensive. His taste buds were shot too, 'til he couldn’t tell the difference between pork and the dubious meat Huang Mei put on the dumplings.

*

Ducking into the alley and heading straight for the narrow door, Bambam closed his eyes for a second to try and forget the jeers and the slurs. It wasn’t often he heard stuff like that, but it wasn’t a surprise, either. People were dickheads everywhere.

He bumped into something and opened his eyes, apologising quickly when the something turned out to be Yugyeom, who he wasn’t afraid of, really, but still felt weary around.

Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention an-

Yugyeom shook his head, hands still on Bambam’s shoulders.

No, I got in your way. You seemed upset.

A lie came to the tip of his tongue, ready to slip and make Yugyeom let go of him, let his face be forgotten.

Remember when you asked me if I felt afraid?, he said instead.

Yugyeom nodded and pulled him to the door, a half-burnt cigarette unlit and forgotten on his left hand. They stood there, back against the wall, water soaking through the Cuban heels of Bambam’s boots.

*

He wouldn’t have known what to do of himself if it wasn’t for Youngjae, who sat him down and drowned him in tea until he spilled.

It’s just a boy, Gyeom-ah, he said. He won’t bite you if you ask him out.

But it’s a _boy_.

Something tells me if it was a girl you would be just as nervous, maybe more.

*

Jackson thought it was funny when Bambam told him Yugyeom had stuttered through his whole monologue of why he liked Bambam.

It’s especially funny 'cos we both thought he was straight, and there he is, head over heels over a bender like me.

What about you?

Looking around Bambam realised he had no action to hide behind, no boots to unzip and no dishes to wash. Jackson would see him blush.

I like him, he said, soft like his cotton candy pink hair. He has good eyes.

*

Eight months in the city meant being so used to commute he didn’t even hear the rumble of the train carriage, didn’t smell the oil in the kitchen. Youngjae laughed when he complained he couldn’t tell if he was smelly before his first date.

Not that Bambam cared, and their date was in one of those bars covered in neon, their soundtrack was a guy with long dark hair crooning on the mic, and for once he could see what was Bambam really made of.

He didn’t have many friends, but he could dance, and he didn’t drink. He kissed fierce at first, then shy like a pre-teen. Yugyeom laughed a lot, not of him, but with him.

I used to think Jackson was dating you, he confessed when they were walking back to Bambam’s flat.

Ew, no. We’ve kissed here and there, but nothing serious.

Really?

It’s pretty common for friends to do it around here, nobody thinks much beyond it.

Are we friends, then?

Bambam lived in a narrow building on top of a 24-hour laundry, and the light from the store made the angles of his face glow, highlighting his blush.

I’d rather be your boyfriend, really.

*

Dating Yugyeom sparked some part of him back to life, with how much they laughed and strolled around giving zero fucks, holding hands and sharing ice lollies against the hate of the world. They went out without spending anything but the necessary because they were both on a perpetual budget, and he watched through the shop front as Yugyeom bought his first box of condoms.

Not like they had anywhere to go fuck, but they made do in Bambam’s room when Jackson was out for the night.

A fateful Wednesday he pressed Yugyeom against the restaurant’s back wall and went down on him like his life depended on it. Each time he heard a cry and felt a pull on his hair he felt like he could conquer the world.

*

Yugyeom went to work the next morning to find the building looking like a charred skeleton, a bunch of people scattered in the street and Jackson and Bambam sitting on the kerb looking like they had jumped out of bed and never had the chance to put themselves together.

The fire had started because of a faulty wire in the clothes shop in the front and spread to the restaurant, the smoke alarming the tenants upstairs who managed to evacuate through the side of the building and call the emergency services.

Where’s Huang Mei?, he asked.

In the hospital, the old rag inhaled some smoke and at her age, it’s serious business.

Did anyone get hurt?

No, thank God. The ground floor is turned to ash, tho. There was too much dry fuel with the clothes and the tables and stuff.

Can we save anything?

Jackson shook his head, while Bambam stood up and hugged Yugyeom tight.

Don’t think so. When Huang Mei comes back she’ll have to start from scratch, and you and I, we should start looking for jobs.

 _Hyung_ , Bambam suddenly whispered. Jacks, how are we gonna pay rent?

Yugyeom looked between them, lost. Jackson’s eyes were large and panicked.

I’ll find something soon, you’ll see. Nothing to worry about, Bambi.

*

For some reason, Jackson couldn’t find anything. When the eviction notice came they weren’t surprised, or they actually were about how nice their landlord was being, giving them a week of advance.

What the hell are we gonna do?

Bambam, already packing all his stuff and setting apart what he could leave behind, looked at Jackson like he was insane.

About what?

We can’t live in the street, Kunpimook!

Let’s just check in the shel-

You said yourself you didn’t wanna go back to the shelters.

Well, they’re better than nothing, innit?

What about Gyeom?

He shares a backroom with two other people, there’s no way we can fit.

But did you ask?

Bambam went back to cramming everything in a cardboard box and in the suitcase he brought from Thailand three years before. He hadn’t asked.

*

Yugyeom had found a job at one of the bars Bambam took him to. Apparently working night shifts at Chinese restaurants was enough of the though training needed for these bars.

The pay was decent, and they didn’t mind Bam coming around at the weekends and sitting by the counter just to chat, which was important because Yugyeom was sure he was in love for real. Every once in a while he’d give a virgin cocktail on the house to Bambam just to taste the fruity soda on his lips later.

That night, after Jaebum-hyung's setlist ended he told Bambam to wait for his shift to end so he could take him home.

No, it’s alright, I’ll meet Jack-hyung halfway, Bambam said.

Yugyeom staged a pout, not used to be rejected, but also because it was very unlike their routine.

It’s midnight already, no way in hell you’re going alone.

I ain’t no kid, Yugyeom.

It was the bite that warned him, because as teasing as they were with each other there was never any real intent, and it made it two things out of the ordinary.

I know you ain’t, Bam, I just like walking with you, yeah? Helps me wind down after work.

Bambam sulked in the corner for the forty minutes left and walked silently beside him. Jackson was nowhere in sight and the lights of the flat upstairs were off when they arrived.

Hyung's out?, he asked, a strange suspiciousness sticking to him like tar.

Bambam’s eyes were skittering around, hands fiddling with his bracelets. Yugyeom didn’t need much else.

He hugged Bambam and sighed, upset too, at how things were and at whatever had kept Bambam from telling him they’d been evicted. He opened his mouth to ask the directions to the shelter but a look at his wristwatch pulled him back to reality.

C'mon, we can sleep in Youngjae-hyung's bed, he’s at his parents' this weekend.

*

He wasn’t sure about how Jackson would react to Yugyeom’s plan, but he didn’t oppose, just dragged their things behind him, looking plainly ahead, still, Bambam knew he felt humiliated.

Yugyeom’s mate Mark had pulled his store counter closer to the garage door and put up two wood planks in the back to act as walls. He said he’d be the one sleeping in the garage, as he’d wake up early to work anyway, and Bambam and Jackson could have his old so-called room or any other way Yugyeom saw fit.

It was a strange arrangement, but Bambam wasn’t complaining since he’d have a roof over his head and people to rely on not just for himself but for Jackson too. And he wouldn’t lie, he was excited to live with his _boyfriend_ , despite the horrible circumstances.

*

To Mark, Jackson had aged well. He couldn’t say the same about himself, he knew he looked gaunt and had purple shadows under his eyes. Not that it mattered, with how pale Jackson turned when he saw Mark, an ugly frown twisting his face.

They arrived in the morning, but Jackson didn’t spare him more than a glance until it was night-time, and he pulled Mark back to the garage, closing the door between them and the boys.

Care to explain what the fuck are you thinking? From what Yugyeom said I’m pretty sure you knew who I was before I got here.

Mark felt choked up. He wanted Youngjae to be home and help him explain, but he had to remember not even Youngjae knew him back when he dated Jackson.

I wanted to help you, I… it- I am…

Use your words, dickhead.

I just want to make it up to you. 'Cos apologising wouldn’t change the past.

*

Somehow Bambam managed to drag everyone to the bar Yugyeom worked. Mark looked dizzy, Jackson went to sulk in a corner, as he was prone to in the last weeks, but Youngjae enjoyed himself a lot. He agreed to dance with Bambam, hyped the songs even when they were sad (or broody, as Jackson would usually say). He wanted to be a singer, he told Bambam, but things hadn’t worked out well for him.

Can you still sing?

I think so? But I sold my guitar ages ago.

Talk to Gyeomie's boss, maybe he’ll be interested. I know this is a gay bar…

I don’t mind, Youngjae said. I just want people to hear me.

*

Back before he dropped out of college, Mark’s only distraction was walking around Chinatown and going to places like that to try to figure himself out. In between the lip-syncing queens and the failing rock star wannabes he’d found a good number of shags, even more bathroom blowjobs, and Jackson.

It had been Jackson’s scene, but years later he looked as out of place as Mark. He didn’t even sit by the bar, where Bambam was pretending to flirt with Yugyeom to Youngjae’s amusement. From his own dark corner, Mark could only see his face and his bottle of beer in the dim light of the stage.

Mark knew himself, that he wasn’t what he used to be, for bad and for good. He wasn’t as bright and handsome, but he wasn’t paranoid and possessive anymore, either. He didn’t like thinking about it. No good looks were worth being as stupid and hurtful as he had been to Jackson in the past.

*

Well, me, meself and I would love to actually know what’s going on between you guys, Bambam grumbled at Jackson when they were both walking around and giving out Jackson’s resume.

Nothing’s going on.

It’s not _now_ , that much I got, but something went on for sure. Sometime.

Jackson was his usual picture of stubbornness, and they had the time to give copies of his poor resume in the barber shop, the noodle factory and the gas station before he spoke again.

You know how Mark-hyung fixes stuff, right?

Well of course, since I pass by his counter every time I leave the hou-

And his family lives overseas, right? He originally came here to study. He used to go to that college near the Sony building.

Bambam pictured that part of town in his mind. The smooth avenues and the bridge, the skyscrapers mirrored in the river. He’d only been there a few times, the commute too expensive to take often for someone who was technically homeless.

What the fuck?, he whispered, baffled.

I know. He used to be, I dunno, he was like an American dream boy, except he spoke Chinese too, and he taught me how to skate and he drove a tuned car. But he was thick as fuck. Really fucking clever, but he panicked over the smallest things and was a huge bastard about it, too.

But he looks so nice, now. Gyeom says he’s always cool and supportive. How did he end u-

Living here and like this? No idea. We broke up, I mean, _he_ broke up with me years ago, and I totally forgot about him, because what good thinking about a rich kid from downtown would do to me? I met you a little later, and honest to God, no man would ever have the same worth a good friend has, to me.

*

Mark’s shop didn’t have a phone, so people called the public phone right in front to talk to him. One afternoon as he battled a TV that’d been a victim of a kid with a mug of juice the phone ringed, as shrill as ever.

Hello, is Hyunwoo home?

Sorry, sir, this is a public phone.

Oh, the voice on the other side hesitated. I’m sure I dialled right, maybe… can you tell me what address is this phone in?

Mark distractedly said the name of the street and the reference while watching Jackson cross the road, unaware of him. He really wanted to talk to Jackson but had no idea how to.

The guy on the phone thanked him and he barely heard. Jackson was walking inside, then, his broad shoulders under his battered leather jacket. Mark followed behind him, unable to take his eyes off. Jackson turned around just before opening door to the back room, and his eyes told Mark he _knew_.

*

Their bedroom was the biggest, still tiny but enough to make Bambam feel like he had something to himself. He curled his legs a little, Yugyeom’s head on his chest, his hand tracing along Yugyeom’s bare back.

I love you so much, he said and Yugyeom didn’t look surprised even if it was the first time any of them was saying it out loud.

I love you too, Yugyeom said. You’re everything I wanted but didn’t even dare to dream about.

*

Jackson wondered if he was being stupid falling for Mark again. He hadn’t (couldn’t) discuss this with Bambam, about how out of all the people he’d slept with, hell, even just kissed, Mark had been the only one to do that to him, pull him out of his axis and send him spiralling.

He was spiralling again, for sure. Seeing things, or maybe not, because it wasn’t unrealistic to consider Mark was still attracted to him. But he didn’t want a revival.

*

Tuesdays were slow days and after Jackson had found a job the house was too empty. It made Mark afraid of the day Jackson would be back on his feet and move back to a place of his own.

I’m so, so sorry, he said to no one at all, wishing he could grab Jackson’s hand and make it touch his heart to make him understand he meant it.

*

There you have it.

He threw the bills on top of the counter, not looking at Mark’s face, or even at his direction at all.

Jack-

You wanted to help me, great, there you have it, you helped me and I’m paying you back. That’s very noble of you and all but where were you four years ago when I had to starve and live in the streets for months 'cos I lost my job and had to use my savings to bail out of something I didn’t even do? Oh, right, you were downtown moping 'cos I’d apparently cheated on you and you’d told me to _never_ talk to you again.

Jack, I’m so-

Save it. Your friends thought it was cool to use their friend’s poor foreign and gay boy-toy's house to shoot up heroin but it was me who got screwed over it. I don’t care how did you end up here, but I think it serves you right.

*

Jackson was looking for a new place, but Mark knew Bambam didn’t want to move out because he was chest deep in marital bliss with Yugyeom. Living on his own was too expensive, so they were stalling.

Youngjae was spending less and less time at home and spending more money on gas to go see his parents. When he was in the city he’d be at the bar, Mark heard, exchanging chords and practicing with one of the usual Saturday night acts.

On one of those Saturdays, as everyone went out, Mark stayed back home, garage door half open so he could watch the street while his hands worked practically on their own. It was late, but not late enough for his friends to be back, when a guy stopped in front of his door, carrying a suitcase and looking worse for wear.

Sorry, good evening, do you happen to know if a Kim Yugyeom lives around here?

*

Jackson was the token sober of the night because Youngjae deserved his congratulatory shots and the many beers paid by the audience after his first gig. Yugyeom and Bambam were blissfully tipsy for once, giggling into each other’s mouths because it was their first anniversary too. One whole year since Bambam arrived at their old flat giggling himself silly because the boy who scrubbed the grease off Huang Mei’s old pots had told him he liked him.

The garage door was still open, and the lights were on, but he couldn’t see Mark. Swallowing some panic, he walked further inside, relieved (for a reason he didn’t want to acknowledge) to find Mark sitting down and hearing another guy talk. Just as he was about to ask who that was, the guy’s eyes met his, but then slid right past to zero on something behind his back.

The room felt strange suddenly. It took him a millisecond to realise it was the silence.

The guy’s eyes were as big as saucers, somehow judgemental even to someone who didn’t know him at all.

Yugyeom made an aborted noise on the back of his throat that had Jackson turning around to look at him. He was grasping Bambam’s hand _very_ tight.

Jinyoung-hyung?

*

Jinyoung tried to say he’d find a hotel, but Mark knew the ones around the neighbourhood weren’t nice in any way and it’d be more like likely to traumatize him more than just sleeping in their queerdom of a house. So, Mark threw a comforter and a pillow over the garage floor and gave his bed to Jinyoung.

Jackson found him there in the morning with a crick in his neck and eyes burning from lack of sleep.

You’re stupid, Jackson’s said but he was being sarcastic, not biting. Being charitable won’t expiate your poor soul.

He sat up, rolling his shoulders. Jackson’s eyes followed the motion.

It might never have occurred to you but I’m only being realistic. Yugyeom doesn’t want to be close to his family for reasons we can very well guess, but he’d be worried if we had thrown his brother in the streets late at night.

Sure.

We’ll see how this Jinyoung is, if he’s nice you can ask him to share rent with you.

Desperate to see me out of the house, aren’t we?

 _You_ certainly are. If you living somewhere else is what it takes for us to be functional around each other, okay. I’d rather-

He stopped, brain catching up with his tongue and making him self-conscious. It didn’t matter what he’d rather have, Jackson didn’t want to be close to him and he shouldn’t be pushy.

You’d rather?

Does it matter? I’ve got no right to tell you what to do and what not, Jack.

Jackson looked at him weird but nodded. Jinyoung had walked in, anyway, being the perfect excuse for them to go back to ignoring each other as usual.

*

He passed Yugyeom and Bambam on the sidewalk, where they liked to sit in the curb and talk about nothing while Yugyeom smoked. The garage was open, but Mark wasn’t inside, only Jinyoung sitting in a corner with his face buried in a book so intently Jackson was sure he wasn’t really reading.

Youngjae was still at work so he was surprised to see a head resting on the kitchen counter, but upon inspection it turned out to be Mark, snoring softly with his cheek mushed against the scratched laminate.

For God’s sake. _Hyung_.

He prodded Mark’s limp arm until he opened his eyes and looked around blearily.

Hi Jack.

C’mon, you have to lay down decently.

No, no, I’m awake.

Nonsense, he countered, pushing Mark towards his own bed and putting a hand to his forehead. You don’t have a fever, but you look awful, is your stomach alright?

Mark nodded against the pillows, _Jackson’s pillows_ , his eyes closed once more.

Gyeom and Jinyoung had a massive row earlier. Bam and Jae weren’t around anymore so I- I didn’t know how to settle them. He paused, looking up at Jackson. I don’t know how to deal with stuff like this.

Stuff like what, hyung?

Like pushing your family away 'cos we’re too much of an embarrassment to them. I thought I wouldn’t have to do this, back then. But look at me, now.

He sighed to himself, and Jackson sat down on the bed, hand centimetres away from touching his hair.

*

There’d been some hope in him, back when Yugyeom ran away, that he’d come back and their life would resume its normalcy. Mother and father, reading, working, brother and brother. But Yugyeom never came back. He took months to even call, and when he did he was a world away.

Still, Jinyoung couldn’t have possibly imagined he’d find his brother living in a makeshift house with four other guys, with his ears pierced like a woman’s and dragging around a kid as skinny as a twig who looked the perfect picture of a fairy.

*

Why didn’t Youngjae-hyung tell me Jaebum-hyung cut his hair? You should’ve seen it, he looks fucking _gorgeous_ with his forehead out. I wonder if I’ve got any chance if I dump Gyeomie.

Mark and Jackson exchanged a look over their dinners, amused. They’d been doing it a lot for the last few days.

I can just cut my hair if you want, baby, Yugyeom teased, to what Bambam replied with a noisy NO.

What am I going to pull when you suck me off, uh?, he wondered, confirming Jackson’s suspiciousness he was putting up a show to annoy Jinyoung.

Jinyoung, who was sitting in the corner with the most disgusted look on his face, closed his book with a thud and stormed inside the little cubicle that used to be Mark’s room.

The next night Jinyoung was sitting at the table like a normal person when Jackson came back from work, too focused on the sharp pain in his back to notice how smug he looked.

I’ve found a job at the station, he announced during dinner. Youngjae was opening his mouth, probably to congratulate him, but Mark beat him to it.

That’s cool, how did you get one so fast?

Yugyeom was quiet, eating slowly for once because he didn’t work on Mondays.

Well, I, unlike some people, speak decently so-

Fuck _off_ okay?, Yugyeom snapped suddenly, eyes drilling holes into Jinyoung’s skull. Half the people in this room weren’t even born speaking Korean, have some fucking sense! You ain’t no better than us, you just finished high school, you ain’t no genius either with your books, I know they’re all cheap romances you bought in the newsstand when we were kids.

Jinyoung looked properly chastised and apologised to Mark, throwing a passing glance at Jackson. Be pointedly avoided looking at Bambam.

Apologise to Bambam, too, Yugyeom demanded, to which his brother grumbled a barely audible sorry.

Jackson expected Bambam to let it pass, as he’d usually done in the past with many people, but even though he barely looked up from his food he didn’t stay silent.

I might look like a stupid faggot, he said and Yugyeom winced as he always did when Bambam was self-derogatory. But I’m not dumb. I know you’re jealous of me and everyone else 'cos Gyeom trusts us like he never trusted you but listen. I’ve got four siblings. They don’t know Gyeomie 'cos they’re all spread around in Thailand, Singapore, my younger sister went to America on a scholarship last month, but if any of them came in here and treated him or any of my hyungs like you just did I’d never speak to them again. 'Cos if you can’t get over your prejudices whatever they are to acknowledge and respect the people who care for your brother then you don’t care about your brother at all.

Everyone stood silent, Yugyeom’s eyes glued to the table but definitely a little shiny. Bambam’s nose was a little pink, as well, but he kept going.

I sure hope your job pays you very well and you can move on your own to a flat downtown if you’re so disgusted to live around people like us. But don’t expect me to sit here and let you treat everything we’ve all worked for like it’s rubbish.

*

With his cover blown and not enough to get out of there, as he’d travelled with only enough money for the tickets back and some spare for a cheap hotel if necessary, Jinyoung had to settle down and figure out what to say to his parents.

He was supposed to find Yugyeom, knock some sense into him and drag him home, but the nearly two years away had turned their shy and skinny Gugy into a huge man with no qualms expressing what he did and didn’t want.

Have you thought about lying?, asked Youngjae, probably the most _normal_ of them, even with the tattoos on his arms.

How?

Say Yugyeom is being difficult so you’ll stay here for a while to convince him, that you found a temporary job.

Mum won’t believe me, they’ll come after us.

But will they?

Jinyoung looked at him, wondering if he was just as demented as the others, after all.

Of course, they will!

Don’t get mad, but when I picked up Gyeom at the highway he wasn’t in a good condition, mentally. You ain’t either, now. I ain’t judging, Jinyoung-ssi, I ain’t that good now or was back then.

What does it have to do with anything?

Gyeom doesn’t talk 'bout earlier when he still lived with your parents. But that’s enough, innit?

Jinyoung shook his head, pretending to not understand. He knew it was enough, had always known, but couldn’t really consider what would be the consequences of admitting to himself his parents had never spared much to Yugyeom, how much it would make him realise they weren’t sparing any to him either.

Because Jinyoung liked attention, recognition, he wanted to be praised all around, especially by people who mattered. But he couldn’t really remember when was the last time one of his parents had complimented him.

*

They were suddenly alone, and Mark looked a little lost, to Jackson’s amusement. He wasn’t looking as gaunt as he’d been when Jackson and Bambam moved in, but the shadows under his eyes were still there.

Why d'you always look so tired?

Mark jumped a few centimetres in the air.

What?

Even when you still had your room, or before you have Jinyoung the bed in the garage, you always looked like you’ve been skipping meals and not sleeping for days. It’s a little better now, just-

He fumbled for words, something so unlike him.

Are you ill?

To his relief Mark shook his head, then pressed his lips together, eyes lost.

I don’t sleep like I was supposed to, never have. When I was younger I could get drunk, or high, or buy medication, but since I’ve given up everything it’s been... a little harder to deal, so to speak. I could ask a doctor for a prescription, but I’m scared.

Of what, hyung?

Addiction? I’ve seen too many people depend on narcotics around me, my whole family can’t seem to survive without a bottle of Valium. I don’t wanna be like them.

Even if it’s hurting you, living like this?

It doesn’t make me sick, I’m too used by now. It’s just worse when there are other things bothering me, but if my head is alright I can deal.

Jackson walked around a bit, mulling over the information until he made up his mind and rounded the counter to put a hand on Mark’s shoulder.

If it makes you sleep better, I forgave you. For all those things I said about the past, I saw how you changed and who you are now, so I know when you apologised it was genuine.

Slowly, like he was afraid to move and scare Jackson off, Mark turned to him and smiled, relief written all over his face.

*

Jinyoung lied to his parents for the first time in his life, then promised to go watch Youngjae’s gig at the bar Yugyeom worked. He disliked bars and clubs on principle but had never been to one.

The reality was much noisier and messier than he anticipated, to the point he gave up and took solace by the counter where Yugyeom was serving drinks.

His brother chuckled a little, but it didn’t sound mean.

I didn’t know what to do at first too, hyung. Back when I worked with Jackson-hyung at the restaurant I came here with Bam for the first time and I was... I don’t even know, twenty percent excited and eighty percent terrified.

Where’s your boyfriend, by the way?

'Round the back, doing the queens' makeup and fawning.

Right, because he’s a-

Trained hairdresser and makeup artist, yes, Yugyeom snapped, like he was expecting Jinyoung to say something else. Maybe a few days before he would’ve meant to say something else, indeed.

And fawning?

Running the tap for another patron, Yugyeom nodded absent-mindedly.

Jaebum-hyung’s playing tonight, and he’s Bam’s favourite act since fucking forever. It’s funny, really, how he turns into an excited puppy whenever hyung is around.

Aren’t you jealous?, he asked, genuinely curious because his brother was nothing like he’d imagined he’d be in the future.

Of hyung? Why should I? Bam likes his songs and thinks he’s attractive, and I agree with both things, but we’ve been together for over a year now, if one of us was a cheater we’d know by now, the community here is pretty small and tight-knit, everyone talks.

The set didn’t start with Youngjae, sadly. It did by some guy with too many piercings and wearing a tank top who Jinyoung found suspicious but surprised himself as midway through the second song he had his eyes glued to the stage.

The songs are decent, and the lyrics are good, he told himself through his efforts to keep his mouth closed.

When Youngjae came on stage he thought he would be able to rest and enjoy, but the other guy stayed to play the guitar. By the end, he couldn’t really remember what were Youngjae’s songs about.

I _told you_ he was attractive, hyung, said Yugyeom, and for once Jinyoung felt happy the bar was so dark, at least no one could see how ears turning red.

*

He’s definitely not straight, anyone who claims to be as straight as a pole wouldn’t be caught staring glassy-eyed at Jaebum-hyung, whispered Bambam on a conspiring voice.

The only pole he could be was a maypole, being gay like that, Youngjae said back making Bambam snort loudly.

Jackson shook his head at them both, repressing a laugh of his own.

Is Jaebum-hyung even a measure? I think the tables and the floorboards are into him.

No, hyung, Yugyeom said Jinyoung-ssi was like, soulless! Like someone had sucked the life out of him.

Is that even a good thing?

Probably not for him, I just find it funny. Serves him right for being such a holier-than-thou snob.

Mark came in, then, and shooed the youngers away, two beers in hand.

You two gossip like old ladies in a retirement home, get off and go bother Gyeom or poke fun of our token straight.

Bambam shared a glance with Jackson’s who nodded. He was alright, or maybe more than alright, with some alone time with Mark in a dark bar.

D’you think Jinyoung’s really gay?, Mark mused, eyes scanning the crowd.

He’s not straight, I suppose. Too horrified by us not to be repressing something. But we’ll see, 'cos I really don’t think people should measure sexuality by Im Jaebum, he’s not even human.

Do you know him, personally?

No, no. Back when I came here with Bambi before he started dating Gyeom, I watched a lot of his sets, but that’s it.

So, Mark took a sip of his beer, pretty hands dancing on the laminate of the table top, you and Bambam, did you ever...

Oh, no. He said I was too much of a bottom, can you believe it?

He ain’t wrong, Mark snorted, so casual. Jackson was in love.

Do I _look_ like a bottom?

Are you asking _me_?

What if I told I like to switch now?

I’d say it’s fine by me, he replied, then seemed to catch up with what he just implied and stuttered. I mean, I, uh.

Jackson laughed, loud and unrestrained, chest vibrating and teeth out.

I think the kids can go back on their own, right? Jinyoung can watch other them.

Jackson? Are you serious?

He laughed again, endlessly amused by Mark’s incredulous face.

I told you I forgave you, didn’t I? So, what’s supposed to be holding us back?

Shaking his head, Mark slid in the booth seat, hands claiming Jackson’s neck as if they’d always been there. But gentle, so much gentler than it had ever been.

I don’t even have a proper bed, he chuckled, lips against Jackson’s.

If I’m not mistaken, my current bed used to be yours. Do you still fit in it?

I’m sure I do, Jack.

*

His parents called two days after what he started calling “Youngjae’s gig night”, and he had to lie some more.

No, mum, he doesn’t want to go back. I know. I know it’s been months since I left. What? No! No, I’m not coming back without him! That’s what I came for, right?

Jinyoung could see Mark looking at him through the glass, cigarette between his lips. He looked better than when Jinyoung arrived.

What do you mean I-, he stuttered, unsure of how to react to his mother’s indifference. Listen, I’ll call, alright? I’ve to go now, but I’ll call.

I can’t believe Youngjae was right, he sighed while walking in. Mark chucked.

He’s got the tendency to be but don’t tell him I said that. What was he right about?

Mother’s just, uh, doesn’t seem to care about whether Yugyeom’s coming back or not.

He didn’t know why he was surprised, really, considering how little effort his parents had made to search when Yugyeom first disappeared. They’d only reported him as missing after Jinyoung pleaded for days, barely allowed him to go to the city to bring him back. He wasn’t even sure why he thought he could take his brother back home. It wasn’t Yugyeom’s home, after all.

*

His single room over the shoe shop was tiny, but Jaebum couldn’t give a fuck. What mattered to him as if it was clean, which he made sure was. His bed might’ve been cheap, but the sheets were washed, and his books and records were dusted every day.

His favourite thing about working at the train station was people watching as they passed by the food stands. They never noticed him under his bright yellow apron and cap, but he noticed them, their little quirks and bits of conversation, how some came regularly and some never showed up again.

He’d scribble what he saw in napkins and old receipts left behind, stuff them in his pockets and take them home to write them properly in his lyrics notebook. He liked how he was, to the unobservant eye, an ordinary boy working in a fast-food chain and living in a shit room, but to his people, he was Im Jaebum, or Jaebum-hyung, the Saturday act.

*

The problem with lying once, Jinyoung discovered, was how easy it was to lie again and again. He didn’t tell anyone where he went, not that they cared, or who he saw. And he certainly didn’t tell Bambam he was spending his lunch breaks with his precious _Jaebum-hyung_.

Especially because Jinyoung wasn’t supposed to know about Jaebum’s other job at the bar. They’d met at the station, after all. Why would a guy like Jinyoung know of a bar like that?

They’d sit by the little metal tables, on the cold metal stools, and Jaebum would show him his notes of the day, talk of the people he saw. Jinyoung would tell him what funny stories he read while selling newspapers and cigarettes. It was different, somehow, to have a secret as inoffensive as this, but still have it mean so much to him.

And he hoped it meant as much for Jaebum.

*

There were notes he didn’t show Jinyoung, words he wrote in the inside of his wrist on the way back home about how Jinyoung spoke, or how he laughed with his hand covering his mouth. About how much Jaebum wanted but knew would never have him.

The station and the bar were two different realms, meant for two different Jaebums, and he could never mix up them.

*

Slowly, like treacle dripping out of the jar, slower than his own wit, Jinyoung fell. He didn’t realise soon enough to catch himself and had to stay there at the bottom of his own mind, whirling in loss. He had no one to turn for this, wouldn’t dare to ask Yugyeom for advice and was too afraid of the others, even Youngjae.

He swallowed his breakfast without raising his head as not to acknowledge Bambam and Yugyeom or Jackson and Mark and how _together_ they were, how they looked at each other. Avoided acknowledging how he now understood what the simplest of their touches meant.

He barely ate at lunch, too focused on Jaebum but doing his best to pretend he wasn’t paying that much attention, that he wasn’t committing to memory every single line Jaebum tentatively wrote in dirty pieces of paper and talked about as if they weren’t meant to be songs.

He skipped dinner. It was too much, and he took to going out at dinner time, wandering the neighbourhood until he knew the others had gone to their rooms and he could scrap some leftover from the cold cupboard and retreat for a nearly sleepless night.

*

Although he shouldn’t, he invited Jinyoung over a few days after his own birthday, as a present. He didn’t know what to expect, but Jinyoung fit right in like he was meant to be framed by the bookshelves and balance a takeout box on his lap while sitting on his bed.

It was unfair, how he looked up at Jaebum with stars in his eyes and his pink mouth slightly open. How Jaebum felt on edge like he could risk everything for a kiss.

He, of course, couldn’t.

*

If anyone noticed they didn’t say anything and Jinyoung supposed it was how own fault for not telling them in the first place, for pushing them away like that would hurt them. It was only hurting himself.

*

Finding Jinyoung at his door was not something Jaebum expected of Tuesdays. He welcomed him in, ate the takeout Jinyoung bought.

It was suffocating back in the house, he said, and nothing more. Jaebum knew he lived with his younger brother, but nothing more.

Afterwards, they played their favourite records, sitting with their backs against the foot of the bed. Nothing changed, but something shifted. Jaebum kissed him, and Jinyoung had the softest lips and the softest skin as he laid on the floor and asked Jaebum to touch him.

Later he sat on the bed, his collarbones just about the prettiest thing Jaebum had ever seen, mouth red and something dark in his eyes.

Do you hate me now?, Jaebum asked.

No.

Jinyoung shook his head, eyes glued to Jaebum’s.

No.

*

Through the week Jinyoung sold newspapers to people in a hurry, cigarettes to sunken smokers and glossy magazines to bored ladies. In the weekend he wallowed in the pressure having a secret that was no longer inoffensive or innocent put in his chest, laying on his bed wishing he was on Jaebum’s instead.

He didn’t attend any of Youngjae’s gigs, because he’d see Jaebum there, _that_ Jaebum who wore piercings and sung about things Jinyoung knew so well. It didn’t matter how he braced himself, there was no way he could handle a crash between the two words Jaebum inhabited but of which Jinyoung belonged only to one.

*

Youngjae’s eyebrows were quickly climbing up his forehead as he read Jaebum’s new lyrics.

That’s... something, I suppose. Way more explicit than your usual.

I know.

Most of them were about what he did to Jinyoung. The others were about things he wanted to do to Jinyoung. They came easily, words and melodies as fluid as the way Jinyoung moved in his arms. He was digging his own grave, giving so much of his energy to a single person.

People are gonna love it, tho. And ask who they are about.

Too discreet to ask directly, Youngjae left the question hanging. He ignored it, performed the songs, glad the stage lights concealed how he was half-hard on stage, and basked on the cheers after.

It wasn’t like he’d ever sing them to the person who owned them and hear _his_ cheers.

*

Me and Jinyoungie are going to get groceries, Mark told everyone one night, as if it was common for them to go anywhere together. It wasn’t a question, either.

They didn’t even go the way the groceries store was but sat down a bench in a patch of dried grass instead. It’d been weeks since Jinyoung had called his parents.

You’re behaving weird for ages, and I know you don’t trust any of us, but I worry. Same as I’d worry if it was your brother.

He considered the pros and cons of telling Mark. In the end, it wouldn’t make a difference. His issue was with Jaebum, not his reluctant roommates.

I met someone, he said. Mark’s eyebrows rose. We’ve been talking for months, and- and doing stuff for a while, now.

So?

We’ve no- I don’t- there’s no way we can work out in the long run.

So, you’re heartbroken... but why? Is she, like, a bad girl? Or dating someone else as well?

Jinyoung pressed his eyes closed. He’d been careful to keep pronouns neutral and give no details. He should’ve guessed Mark was clever enough to catch him.

He’s out of my league.

He.

I don’t even know what he sees in me, I think it’s just because I’m easy.

Easy.

Don’t repeat what I just said.

I’m sorry, but I’m _for some reason_ struggling to imagine you being _easy_ to a _he_. Do I know him?

Maybe. I don’t know you or him enough to know if you’ve met. You’re the same age, though.

Mark seemed baffled, but in his distinctly Mark way, face inexpressive but his dark eyes burning into Jinyoung’s.

I guess neither Yugyeom or Youngjae know?

No.

*

They didn’t sleep together. Jinyoung would detangle from him, get dressed and kiss his cheek, then disappear as if he’d never been there at all.

It was ridiculous how Jaebum laid there, naked and uninspired until late, when he’d start stroking himself slowly, traces of Jinyoung still on his skin, and would only go back to reality after that dry orgasm as if it grounded him.

Looking at him the next morning didn’t hurt, like Jaebum feared it would, only made him a little dizzy. It felt like he was under a spell, one so strong he couldn’t explain even on his lyrics.

*

Just a question, Mark said out of nowhere, starting Jinyoung who was halfway through his late-night search for food. This guy of yours, does Youngjae know him?

Sagging with defeat and opening a pack of crisps, Jinyoung turned to him.

Yeah, they know each other pretty well.

Cool.

*

The weirdest part was how instead of feeling like he was in a dream when he was with Jinyoung, he felt like it the rest of the time when he went to the store or walked home after work. It was only real when they were together or when he was singing.

So Real, he thought, struggling to keep his eyes open while Jinyoung rode him through climax, neck and subtle curve of his waist stretching in pleasure.

*

Jinyoung-hyung you _have_ to come, it’s my first time opening the set!

Mark was in the corner of the room smirking behind Jackson’s back, the bloody sadist. Jinyoung flicked his cigarette, eyeing Youngjae suspiciously.

It looks like I don’t have a choice.

He caught Yugyeom’s eye by chance. They weren’t talking. Hadn’t been for months, he couldn’t even remember why, but they were both too good at holding grudges.

The bar was still the same, but it didn’t scare him like it did the first time, well, not for the same reasons. He was still terrified of seeing that version of Jaebum that looked like an illusion but at the same time was more real than the guy in cheap blue jeans he dealt with every day.

Hiding in a corner he dry-swallowed through Youngjae’s set, doing his best to remain grounded and _listen_ , pay attention to the lyrics, the chords. Eyes never straying from Youngjae’s face, that also looked different from what he was daily. Maybe it was a stage trick.

He should’ve left right after but there was no power in him to force himself out when that _vision_ took the stage and started crooning. With Jaebum it was easy to pay attention to the lyrics and melodies. He knew most of them from the whistling Jaebum did around.

It was a vision, but he still recognized the way Jaebum’s body moved, his moans a ghost of the sounds he made when they were together. And he wasn’t stupid.

The lyrics.

He had to clutch at the vinyl of the booth seat to keep himself from climbing up the stage and touching that illusion and find out if it was the same man he was in love with.

*

Wiping the sweat off his face, Jaebum set his guitar aside and walked to the counter knowing well that Yugyeom would have a cold beer waiting for him. He sat down just in time for Bambam to arrive behind him, eyeliner smudged but lipstick still flawless.

Where’s Jinyoung-hyung?, he asked. Jaebum turned around, startled.

Reckon he went home just now, Yugyeom replied.

Jinyoung?

Both of them, as well as Youngjae who was leaning against the counter sipping his soju, looked at Jaebum like he had something on his face.

Yes, Jinyoung-hyung, my brother.

Brain working at maximum speed, putting bits and pieces together, Jaebum bent forward over the counter.

Your brother works at the newsstand at the station, by any chance?

He does, why?

He didn’t grace Yugyeom with an answer. Instead, he set off until he was out of the bar, power walking down the street, heart up his throat and hoping for everything good there was in the world he could catch up to Jinyoung. Jinyoung, Yugyeom’s brother. The hyung Bambam was always whining about. He was _his_ Jinyoung.

Maybe God loved him, after all, despite what everyone said, because he found Jinyoung right in front of him a few blocks away, waiting to cross the street.

Jinyoungie, Jaebum whispered and he turned around as white as a sheet. Jinyoungie I- why- I didn’t know you were here.

You clearly did as you’re running after me.

In the bar, I didn’t even think you knew this bar!

Jinyoung’s face went from pale to flushed. For the first time occurred to Jaebum he was ashamed of what he was, of who his brother was. It matched what Bambam usually said.

But it’s alright! I’m just- did you watch my set?

Yes, I did.

And what did you think about it?, he asked, half embarrassed half excited. Jinyoung’s face was now back to normal, or maybe a too still version of his normal expression.

You are always very good, he said and crossed the street just before the light changed and left Jaebum stranded in an empty sidewalk.

*

Youngjae shook his head at the pitiful face Jaebum presented him the next morning, the shadows under his eyes clashing horribly with the yellow of his uniform.

You left your guitar at the bar.

I know.

Did you find Jinyoung-hyung?

Yeah.

And?

We don’t- I just- do you think he feels betrayed 'cos I didn’t tell him I played?

Youngjae frowned, growing progressively more confused.

I wasn’t even aware you guys knew each other and I fucking live with him. 'Sides he knew already 'bout you playing there, he saw when I first performed. Remember? You opened the set then stayed for the rhythmic guitar on my set.

That was _months_ ago. He was there?

Yeah, I had to beg him to go, keep mum about the _gay_ bar part and all that. You met him here?

Yes, we... have lunch together.

Huh, have “lunch” alright. Jinyoung-hyung is a sly dog, not even Gyeomie knew he was queer.

I’m still not sure if he is, I mean-

Rolling his eyes Youngjae got up, he had to go back to work on the other side of the street.

Judging by the way you’re now and those lyrics he’s _at least_ gotten naked in front of you and _at least_ once, hyung. Knowing him, he’s probably in denial now things are out in the open.

*

Jaebum had never been in denial. He wasn’t good at denying himself anything, and if his younger self wanted to snog guys he very well did. He wasn’t any good at denying himself Jinyoung either, days passing with longing looks that weren’t subtle in any way, in hopes Jinyoung would cave. He didn’t.

It was absurd to Jaebum because why would anyone keep himself from feeling good over some social misconception? So, he wrote about it, bits and strings of a baffled and horribly angry song he didn’t know if he could ever finish.

*

Mark frowned at him. Youngjae was one of the only people who could read Mark with some degree of accuracy beyond his passiveness and casual sarcasm. He was worried.

The song is beautiful, he said. Youngjae held back a cheer.

But? You look like your dog died, hyung.

Coco is just fine, thank you, don’t kill our dog. The lyrics are sad, that’s all. It’s the first song you write and it’s...

Confusing, isn’t it? The melody is hype, but the lyrics are depressing.

Yes. Are they about Youngmin?

Youngjae wished he had the lyrics written out in front of him to give him some perspective, but he had them memorized, intertwined with the push and pull of the melody, with the muscle memory of the chords in the guitar and in his throat.

I wrote them, some of them at least, the night after Gyeom got his job at the bar.

*

 _I’m in love with you, I’m in love with you, I’m in love with you_ , Jaebum whispered fervently while walking across the station to where he could see Jinyoung’s face over the stand.

They were both too proud, he’d realised, and it wasn’t worth it. He wanted his life back on its tracks, clean sheets and records gliding smoothly against the needle. He wanted Jinyoung back.

I’m in love with you.

Again, Jinyoung’s starry eyes were a well of darkness, his pink mouth firmly shut.

Do you hate me now?, Jaebum asked, pretending not to feel like in a déjà vu. The darkness in Jinyoung whirled.

Yes, a little bit.

*

Youngjae packed his new guitar along with his bag in the backseat of the Toyota. It’d been years since his parents had heard him sing, but he owed them his song. Mark-hyung, then mum and dad, then the bar.

They needed to know Youngjae was healing.

*

The song was about water. Something about washing away and flooding the forest of someone’s lungs, about fire cracking and dying under early morning rain. Youngjae didn’t sing to him, let Jaebum struggle through the lyrics and tab on his own.

I love it, he said. It feels like I’m under the sea, looking up at the surface and all I can see is the blur of the sun. Like everything will be kept at bay 'til I’m ready.

Youngjae gave him one of his best smiles, the one Jaebum saw when he sang Bob Dylan and liked to remember when he was feeling down about his music.

Thank you, hyung.

*

I wish you’d let me record you signing, his mother tutted through the phone.

Youngjae laughed.

C’mon mum, you already have too many videos of me playing stuff in the living room. Bambam is gonna film me at the bar tomorrow, I’ll order a copy and give it to you, so you can see Jaebum-hyung playing too.

*

Jaebum looked up from his electric guitar, hands still on the tuning pegs. Bambam was smiling slightly, eyes gleaming with glitter eyeshadow.

Jinyoung-hyung is here, he said.

In the crowd or...

On the other side of the door waiting for you.

The alley between buildings the back of the bar faced was ironically one of the cleanest places around. The musicians and queens complained if it got dirty because they had to drag their dresses and instruments through it, so there was a big broom in the corner and a metal trashcan attached to the wall working as an ashtray.

Jinyoung was plastered against the wall, flicking his cigarette in the can with his eyes closed. Jaebum didn’t know what to say, but Jinyoung beat him to it.

I’m sorry.

Jaebum took a deep breath. Water flooding the forest of his lungs. Peace.

It’s okay. You made me very happy, while we lasted. But I’ll get over it.

Jinyoung threw the fag away, shook his head.

No, I’m sorry I’m like this. I keep things from people important to me because I think they don’t care. I’m sorry I didn’t realise you cared earlier.

Well, I care about you. You’re an amazing friend to me, patient and good at listening. I’m happy around you.

Really? I feel I had to apologise for not telling you I knew who you were, too. I mean, is just... I struggle to understand you’re the same person here and at the station or at home.

The confession made Jaebum chuckle because it was so like Jinyoung to sense something Jaebum wordlessly projected.

That’s my fault, actually. I never told you I play, either, 'cos I always kept my two lives apart, 'til you fused them together. Do you think you can still be my friend? I’ll miss talking with you so much, Jinyoungie.

The streetlamp was too far away and Jaebum had closed the door behind him. In the near darkness, he couldn’t see Jinyoung’s eyes. He couldn’t see the stars in the sky either.

I don’t think I’d ever manage to be your friend, Jinyoung said back. There’s no way for me to stop wanting you, hyung. That’s what I came to apologise about.

You- I don’t get it.

I’m sorry I didn’t realise earlier and just told you. We love each other, don’t we? But 'cos I’m a git I said all that stuff when you found me that night, and I hate you a little bit 'cos I wasn’t supposed to feel things like this but here I _am_ , in a back alley smoking myself stupid because I’m in love with a man.

Too dumbfounded to move, Jaebum just let himself be pressed to a wall and kissed, closed his eyes, dragged his hands under Jinyoung’s shirt, fingers cold. Fire dying under early morning rain.

*

Youngjae first screamed than laughed hysterically, eyes brimming with tears because he was nervous but also so happy.

Jaebum-hyung, we have a set to play!, he yelled. The couple broke apart with twin gasps. Youngjae laughed some more as their faces turned bright red.

Walking back inside he found Bambam sitting beside his guitar like he was babysitting the instrument, a tall glass in his hand.

Gyeom tells you good luck, he said giving the glass to Youngjae, who sipped curiously. He says it’s just juice and pears are apparently good for the throat.

Okay, I think I’m ready. Do you have the camera?

Yes, hyung, you’re as ready as you’ll ever be since you don’t let me do your hair.

You’re gonna put glitter in me like you do to everyone else?

Nonsense, I just wanna make you look fancy, c’mon. I swear there’s no glitter or anything.

Later, when they were going back home, exhausted from playing and dancing and working and kissing, Youngjae turned a corner, hand heavy on the steering wheel the old Toyota, getting older every year, he looked at the narrow streets of their district then at Yugyeom’s face in the rear-view mirror, tipped against Bambam’s as they sat snuggled in each other on the back seat.

The radio was just static, the sun was nearly rising. In the half-light everything looked underwater, dream-like.

Aren’t you too tired to drive?, asked Mark from the passenger seat.

It’s just a five-minute drive, hyung. Is Jack-hyung asleep already?

I think so, the kids are just pretending.

Yugyeom giggled, Bambam’s raspy laughter following. Mark shushed them after Jackson moved in his seat.

He’s gonna hurt his neck, Bambam said, reaching out to cradle Jackson’s head with his hand.

It had been three years. Three years since Youngjae had stood beside an open grave with images of mud and terrified splashing filling his mind. Three years since he drove back to the city bracing himself for a crushing loneliness that would never go away.

Three years since their little home started building itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Written with:  
> Grace, So Real, Lover You Should've Come Over and Dream Brother (Jeff Buckley); Forever Young (Alphaville); Tears in Heaven (Eric Clapton); Daniel in the Den (Bastille); Love Hurts (Nazareth); Bologna (Wanda, also the reference for Jaebum's style of singing); Keep on Loving You (REO Speedwagon); Dust in the Wind (Kansas).
> 
> The murder of the gay boy in Yugyeom's hometown was taken from [Matthew Shepard's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matthew_Shepard) history. He is now interred in the Washington National Cathedral and his family holds a foundation to support LGBTQ rights. He also namesakes a law in the US.
> 
> If you feel like it, my twitter is [@moonymindpalace](https://twitter.com/moonymindpalace), my DMs are always open.


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